


Roxy and Her Imperious Condescension Get Mutually Laid, With Each Other, And It Completely Rules

by obstreperose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 18:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17085260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstreperose/pseuds/obstreperose
Summary: In which: an Earth C Roxy and the Condesce get down and rutty and do some passionate stuff and generally just score hard with each other, and derive great enjoyment from such. Old wounds are mended, giant ladies are gazed upon, and hearts race without restraint.For the estimable and incredibly skilled (seriously! her art inspires in me awed wonder, she is GOOD) RoxyPop.





	Roxy and Her Imperious Condescension Get Mutually Laid, With Each Other, And It Completely Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop/gifts).



Okay, so she’d been here for three days now, and every day she’d shed another item of clothing. She’d come into this tentatively scheduled hang session fully dressed, skittishly confident in the idea that she was going to do her level best to flirt with this millennia old sexy alien on even footing, and then as she’d succumbed to shoulder rubs in the glitter-steamed sauna and sly through-the-clothes teasing in the pillow-swaddled boudoir, she’d lost her top - they were spending so much time flitting between various beds, recuperacoons, hot tubs that really, what was the use of it? - then her skirt, her leggings, and finally her panties.

Now Roxy was leaning against the side of the throne, one hand playing an idyll through the taut blonde coil on one side of her bangs. Her fingers wound it ever-tighter with each passing moment. Her skin was alight. Her bare ass was against the lush (but delicately, insultingly tiny) red footstool that had been provided for her to perch on when she was “in attendance” at the court of Her Imperious Condescension.

What a cheap joke. The red carpet was sumptuous enough to lose your feet in, and it touched the horizon through a series of spandreled gateways, antechamber on antechamber on antechamber. Trying to count the archways from here, at the seat of the throne, made your eyes cross. At tasteful intervals throughout the throne room were colour-lush portraits that displayed heroic vistas of her hostess in full swing. A golden trident featured repeatedly as a large-as-life rendering of the Condesce quashed rebellions, romanced suitors, navigated intrigues. Fanged teeth glinted, repeated motif, against the high-contrast darkness. Some of the paintings were on what looked like velvet.

This whole place was like that: a strange mixture of alien majesty, and loud, almost comforting kitsch. Occasionally when you wandered through the castle you would find strange metallo-organic things that looked like a mix between gothic organs and DJ decks. Elegant sitting rooms merged seismically into iridescent jacuzzis that were, all the same, strangely reminiscent of some of the popcorn reality shows Roxy had watched time-worn .mp4s of growing up. Roofs stretched to vaulted ceilings where an echo could get lost…and all of it was empty.

Sitting out here, at the seat of a throne with only a glimpse of two long legs crossing and un-crossing over each other, the occasional growly sigh of relaxed anticipation, would have been way beyond the pale of their recklessly negotiated relationship if anyone was actually here to  _witness_  it.

(The Condesce had no court, not any more. A new universe had necessitated a clean-ish slate. She had chosen for her own a trackless spire in the sea, and built up around it with the frightening focus of a lifelong type-A personality a palace to rival mountains. The sculpted walls stretched above the clouds. The topmost balconies were only walkable by guests who could breathe in space.)

Yeah. Not only would it have been completely intolerable to sit here, toying with her hair, fingers twisting themselves in tight little urgent knots, at the base of Her Condescension’s throne if anyone was around to watch her, it would have been beneath her self-respect. Really, she was doing the troll a favour by hanging out here at all -

Roxy’s train of thought met an abrupt derailment as she suddenly found her cavorting fingers met with long, black-gloved company. She hadn’t realised she’d been delaying her breath, but now she breathed in sharply, and then out again in a little shuddering roll. Oh, shit.

Even one of Her Condescension’s fingers drowned her entire hand. The thumb, ensconced in the susurrus fabric of her sleek black body-suit, brushed over Roxy’s forehead and swept her tousled bangs into total disarray. That one hand could have extended fingers to the base of her neck, rolled their tips in the wells of her shoulders.

She was breathing quickly. She could feel the tiny amount of friction against the smooth, cool fabric introduced by her clammy skin. The low growl of anticipation became a thrumming  _hrrmm_  sound, and then the Empress spoke:

“Get on up here, girl.”

Her voice was a siren’s purr - but there was a barracuda thrum beneath that Roxy found, if anything, more enticing. She had a playful, almost gentle twang that completely belied just how deviously cruel she could be when she wanted to quicken your pulse, raise the stakes of the game.

Roxy nearly knocked the footstool over in her eagerness to mount the throne, clamber into the lap of her imagined prize. She had, she was forced to admit, been entirely naked with a well of frustrated heat growing between her legs for way too long. Her ankle dragged against the soft velvet. She twisted her body past the vertex of the throne, one palm catching against its arm, the other falling want-clumsy against Her Condescension’s thigh, and looked up into the eyes of the erstwhile empress.

The Condesce had made her wait nearly thirty minutes before calling for her. Roxy’s whole body was an agonised shout of fantasy and want. She could feel herself trembling with adrenaline, and knew that it was visible.

The empress’ irises were soaked a deep fuchsia. Her eyelashes were ink-dense thickets that held with lazy candour. Against her throne in its royal red, her sable bodysuit cast her in bas-relief, each sumptuous curve and hard angle a statue that had lasted ten thousand years. Roxy swallowed heavily and felt her throat bob. Oh, God. She was in it now. Whatever “it” was. Love? Danger? Extreme, lust-motivated trouble?

Her Imperious Condescension patted the broad swathe of her thigh where Roxy’s soft hand had wind-fallen. “C’mon.”

No. It wasn’t entirely lust. She clambered up, little vellicating thrills running through her as the blonde down on her bare legs brushed against the warm sleekness of those gigantic thighs. She found herself straddling one of them. Her vulva sang out in shock and delight as it was pressed, her lips spread, by its curve and width. Her Condescension’s hand fixed against her back, and massaged her with one palm, the heels of her fingers roving in easy back-forth against the ladder of her spine. Carefully, artfully, that strong hand found her hip and forced her forward, up the sleek hot softness of her thigh in its sheathe of supple black, in a slow roll. Roxy, with embarrassing certitude, could feel her own wetness smearing its trail against the woman’s obliquely stylish clothes. She leaned her body shyly into the thick, sheaf-like curls of the empress’ hair.

“You wanna hide your face, huh?” Canting words, at once cloyingly sweet and unmistakably carrying in them the promise of roughness. “You don’t wanna see what a shivering l’il mess you are? That’s okay.”

Roxy’s breath was catching at every syllable.

Fantasies about the Empress had been a fixture all her life. In her childhood they were visceral fairytales filled with daring vengeance and justice, at long remove, served. In later years - and with more frequency since she had found her mother’s stash of letters and the cursory, mocking replies, seen beneath the rivalry and the abutting causes the frisson of attraction that was clearly evident in the innuendoes that other Rose had layered into the text - they had taken on a different, suppler character. Roxy had begun to dream of kisses with a fanged mouth, her back braced by the tyrant’s trident. For a long time these were, of course, shameful little private fantasies.

Now here she was - in the middle of the dream, made real, no longer an invulnerable fantasist but someone experiencing every contingency of the fantasy, the way every fraction of it felt on her skin, tweaking the strands of her hair, quickening her pulse. She was replete with the feelings, the sounds, the scents of every movement, fabric, glimpse of skin. The Condesce’s other hand met her lips, fingertips brushing against her upper, then her lower lip, dragging it down as if to test whether or not she could insert a finger. Roxy had pinked herself up with lipstick before coming, and reapplied it with increasingly shakier hands every morning. Now it smeared off against that soft grey skin, the heat of their bodies in close union making transfer easier. She lifted her head from where she had hidden herself in those black tresses, and looked directly up at her - lover? Captor? No, she was here by choice, but fuck if she didn’t  _feel_ captivated.

“I don’t need to close my eyes for what’ver you’re gonna do to me,” she husked, trying to get that sexy sultriness she’d practised in the mirror back into her voice and finding herself molten with vulnerability instead. The Condesce laughed - a soft, crescent snicker.

“You wanna see it?”

“I wanna see it.”

Both hands now, bearing up at the root of Roxy’s hips, then sliding down to press and squeeze around the shallow curves of her ass. Her Condescension half-pushed, half-lifted her until Roxy was jutted on her knees and she was trading breath with her lover. Their lips found each other, once, then again, and despite all the power play and the teasing and the rough handling, this was shockingly mutual. The kiss pressed inward and Roxy felt her lipstick sticky smearing a mouth that was infinitely soft, the hint of fangs as their tongues met and turned in a quick combative duel. She braced one hand against a horn, shoulder shivering as she dared herself to do so. The Condesce emitted a low growl of scandalised pleasure. Her tongue rolled over Roxy’s and pinned it.

The black bodysuit was shimmied down around her shoulders, now, as her hair tossed in a quick back-forth motion and she freed herself with a hand movement that either released a hidden zipper or was, very possibly, pure affectation. Her breasts overspilled its stretched-taut confines, and she hissed as she worked it down one thigh. Roxy was already, insatiably but following a pattern they’d worn down between them, dipping her head to take one grey-capped nipple into her mouth and suckle at it with intense, hungry fervour. The hiss of frustration became a pant of unmanaged pleasure. The empress’ fingers were under her thigh, spreading her labia, running themselves down alongside her inner heat in quick repeated sallies. Fuck! Even her fingers were bigger than most toys Roxy had used, and she still wasn’t used to it.

“Not even in yet, l’il goldfish,” she said, the words holding about six promises, each more suggestive than the last.

“Not even close,” agreed Roxy, with a sly wink, lifting her spit-wet mouth from her gigantic lover’s breast, the stiffening grey nipple capped by heat and slickness courtesy of yours truly, and enjoyed the momentary look of needy frustration that passed over her lover’s face.

“Oh, you don’t wanna go all the way this time?” The empress recovered fast. Her mouth eased down Roxy’s neck, and between words she pressed a few fangy kisses, not quite biting, lapping with her tongue as if to mend the thrill of pain. “Be the first time, baby gill.”

Her finger-pad lifted and curled up against Roxy’s clit, lifting it from the underside so that a hot thrill of sensation passed through her entire nervous system from the pussy up, and Roxy could no longer maintain the facade of punky sass she’d been trying so hard to keep up her side of the conversation with.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“S’what I thought.” Her laugh was rich and throaty, and her breath carried the heat of her kiss, and Roxy knew herself to be fruitlessly and undeniably in love.

The empress’ finger was joined by two more, spreading out her labia on either side, and she let out a low groan that didn’t distract her at all from the fluttery feelings in her heart as that arrogant middle finger moved back in again to roll and tease against her entrance, dipping shallowly in, testing how ready she was for something more significant. It curved up an inch inside her and evinced a low, plaintive groan of need from Roxy. She didn’t even consciously think it. The sound just passed her lips without running it by her higher bodily functions first.

They had big plans for tonight. Well, more like plans for a big experiment.

Normally, Condy pulled out before her climax. It was hot. Roxy now knew, intimately and having replayed the memory in her private time so much she saw it (and shuddered happily) when she closed her eyes, what it felt like to be dripping breasts-to-hips with slippery fuchsia genetic material, its heat, its sharp intense scent, marking her as a consort of the empress. Better still, she knew what the Condesce’s O-face looked like, her lips rolled up to show her gasping fangs, her sleekly trimmed eyebrows arching down in a thick wordless exclamation as her neck rolled back and tossed her hair up, a series of repeated tremors. It was just wild enough to be scary, and just un-coordinated enough to provoke huge amounts of tender, romantic love.

Tonight, she wasn’t going to do that.

“Lift your hips.” Voice rough and needy, her hand dropping to tear down what was left of her once-sleek bodysuit, and Roxy felt hot familiar weight uncoiling against the curve of her inner thigh, a heat and a slickness and a  _scent_ that had left such a deep track in her sensory library that she found herself salivating.

Her Condescension’s bulge emerged from its sheathe in slow, pumping sallies. She huffed out breath with the flex of internal muscles, her cheeks noticeably warming - their colour was the tell - as each inch pushed out and slapped up against Roxy’s thigh, reclined autonomously against the empress’ belly. It grew thicker towards the base, and Roxy could tell that each inch required more of a flex to loose and uncoil, the process only eased (only really made possible) by the slick, redoubling wetness of the troll empress’ arousal.

Through experimentation in more than a handful of dream bubbles, and late-night dish sessions with Rose, Roxy had garnered a pretty good idea of the average size of a troll’s unsheathed bulge. The Condesce’s looked like most others she’d been up close and personal with, although of course its glossy surface rippled with a deep, rare fuchsia. It was just about half again as large.

Fuck. She was about to be split down the hips, she knew, and also knew that she was gonna love every minute of it.

She lifted and rolled herself forward, but fucking like this required almost none of the hand-guided whispers and slow, negotiating breaths doing it with her other partners did. The tapered, curved tip of the Condesce’s swelling organelle knew exactly where to seek its heat, and it was already inside her half an inch before she could even think about reaching a hand down to guide it. The supple crest of the sex, half-guided by its owner and half-operating on primeval instinct to seek its heat and deposit its seed, pumped in frenziedly until Roxy’s cunt shivered inwards and grabbed it in a clenching reflex - and then, calming, seemed to know it was in the right place, and restricted its prehensility to slow turns and twists inside her. Her Condescension’s hips turned and rolled, pushing in more when Roxy felt like she couldn’t take it and teaching her, by the lesson of experience, that she really could. Her thighs wanted to squeeze in together but there was no room, their muscles were spasming. She cast her hands against the empress’ body, twisted to one side, and let out a pitchy cry of sensation as the fulsomeness and shock of being fucked by a pitching, swelling bulge that was only able to push inside her by the dint of love and heat spread through her body from inwardness to fingertips.

Tersely, haltingly, she leaned in forward, breath passing her lips in a soft flush-cheeked grunt, and began to roll her hips in jolting thumps down on the thickness of her lover’s sex. Her own wetness, more copious than usual by a significant degree, runnelled down the tapered base of Condy’s bulge and commingled with slick, alien arousal. She’d never taken it to the base and she probably couldn’t. She didn’t care. This was more than enough.

Her Condescension’s breath thrummed in her chest. Her voice was heavy, hot, ragged, and insuperably commanding. Roxy could see her diaphragm lifting as she breathed in deeply.

“Sure you’re ready to carry imperial offspring, l’il minnow?” As cutesy as the nickname was, parsed from those fanged teeth and with the roll and hiss of her breath lifting up, her hands pressing and lifting on Roxy’s hips, it sounded like the edge of a knife. A shiver of a thrill married itself to Roxy’s spasming struggle to manage her arousal. “Pretty big responsibility. Hh.”

It was amazing how sharp she was able to keep herself, even while she was clearly as riven into strands of passion as Roxy was. Millennia of having to be the toughest, most terrifying presence in the room probably taught you that.

“I - I - I - fuck, yes, I made my choice, I’m into it - “

“You sure?” Hot breath pressed into the top of Roxy’s head. She found herself panting and cradled against the plain of the Condesce’s clavicle as her roiling bulge worked into her, found the extent of its depth and then _swelled_ , increasing arousal marking a pump in some internal muscle.

“I - I’m - yeah - oh - !” She was half-distracted from the difficulty of answering, first by pleasure, and second by how _obvious_ it was that she wanted this. She craved it. She’d spent the last three days dreaming of her belly heavy, gravid and brooding with the Condesce’s seed. Of being marked. Owned. Used and simultaneously cherished. Oh God, she was pretty fucked up -

“Beg.”

“Wh-what?”

“Beg me to breed you, little human girl.” The twang was gone and now her words were clipped as stenography. “Tell me how much you want it or you get fuckin’ nothing.”

Roxy’s mind raced a complete circuit. She forced her hips down on that swollen, pleasure-churning bulge, and that was less out of a desire to convince than it was pure autonomic reflex, it felt too good not to.

“I - I -  _please_ , baby - “

A  _hsshh_  of breath and the lap of the Condesce’s tongue, the suggestion of fangs, at her neck.

“Her Condescension! Ah! Ah - fuck, fuck! Please, Your Condescension, condescend to fill me up with your - fuckin’ come - oh, shit, shit - “

She was shivering out an initial, sloppy orgasm even in the process of begging. her legs jolting, barely able to stop her appeal from being interrupted by the huge, pitchy screams of pleasure she had to swallow before they reached her throat.

“Fffffuckfuckfuckfuckfuck  _please_  breed me, I need it, I want to feel your bulge spilling its hot fertile load inside me - “

The empress’ shoulders rolled forward, and it was only at that moment, a glimpse upwards at her sweat-marked cheeks, panting mouth, thick black sheafs of hair in disarray, that Roxy realised her partner had been struggling to hold back too.

“You’re the best fuckin’ lay I ever had, l’il goldfish,” she panted, facade down, one palm cradling Roxy’s back, her broad hips sliding forward until she was angled almost out of the throne, and as Roxy panted out the first starry-eyed gasps of a secondary orgasm, a rising moan from between those fang-sheathe lips matched hers and she felt the Condesce’s bulge  _pump_  and swell, roil itself back and forth in great pushing tension-and-release heaves, inside her, and felt the unmistakable heat of a flood of fluid, only the overspill of what had certainly already pumped itself in arcing streams against the pinpoint barrier of her cervix, flowing down around her thighs, slippering in hot rivulets into the cleft of her ass.

Her lover’s bulge was lashing inside her, deep, hot, reckless moans parting Her Condescension’s lips every half-second as another thrum of orgasmic contraction provoked another pumping roll and released another arc of her genetic material inside her chosen paramour. She gripped Roxy’s back with both hands, hard keratin-edged nails leaving flushed lines where they used a fraction of their strength to hold her lover close.

“Well, fuck,” she panted, at last, and Roxy found herself mirroring the words with her own exhausted, love-dizzy voice.

“Oh, fuck,” she agreed, legs still quavering madly as the aftershocks of her last orgasm wore through her, sending off excitable little sparks in her brain.

“We pretty certain I’m pregnant?” she added, voice shaking, shoulders rolling as she straightened out of a thrilled shudder. She looked into those fuchsia-soaked eyes, admiring their nightlike yellow sclera, the way Condy’s pupils were gently dilated and Roxy could tell she was at ease in a way she’d perhaps rarely ever been.

“You think this is my first time doin’ this, girl?” Her Condescension’s voice was now a soft hush. She breathed in deeply, and it was clear she was cherishing the scent of Roxy’s arousal, her warm, sweaty, adored body. “Hundred percent hit rate. The queen don’t miss.”

“Pff, right. You realise what a cheesy thing that is to say?”

“Fuck you, you love it when I front.”

“Who’s fronting?” Roxy leaned in, turned, levered herself up, until she was sitting heat-slick in her lover’s lap against the pillow of her thigh, the sleekness of her torrential hair. “I didn’t say you were actually wrong, babe.”

Her Imperious Condescension huffed out through her nose, and gave Roxy a rueful kiss on the top of the head. Despite everything, she found herself battling an irrepressible grin that made her look every bit as goofy as she had spent the last several millennia thoroughly not allowing herself to be.

Roxy lifted up a hand and, with a tenderness that was completely untrepidatious, stroked the side of her lover’s cheek. “Bet I know what your face looks like right now.”

Her imperial majesty, currently empress of nothing but one big empty castle and one young woman’s heart, kissed her again. She liked it when Roxy fronted, too.


End file.
